


Rehearsal (or Something of That Sorts)

by sloppydorito



Category: Franz Ferdinand (Band)
Genre: (help), Issa spicy meat-a ball, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloppydorito/pseuds/sloppydorito
Summary: Alex and Bob decide to shake up a session while recording RT, RW, RA.(also, i apologize if this is hot garbage lol, i started writing at 0100 and it went from there)
Relationships: Bob Hardy/Alex Kapranos
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Rehearsal (or Something of That Sorts)

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT REAL. NOWHERE NEAR IT WHATSOEVER. DO NOT SEND THIS OR SHARE IT WITH FRANZ FERDINAND OR ANYONE ASSOCIATED WITH THEM. I WILL STEAL YOUR KNEECAPS.

It was a long day at the studio for sure, the band was recording parts of their upcoming album: Right Thoughts, Right Words, Right Action. The sound of this album was new to the members of Franz Ferdinand, at least compared to their albums prior. Though it was a fun sounding and fun to record album, the stressors of deadlines, quality, and coordinating with other artists was very present. After cleaning up a bit and deciding on lunch, Paul and Nick decided to head out to pick it up along with other refreshments. Alex and Bob stayed behind to review and tweak what they thought they needed on their ends. 

“Do you think they’ll be long?” Bob said to Alex as he tuned his bass.   
“Y’know, they probably will be since they’re gonna be gossiping like school girls the whole time.” Alex rolled his eyes and chuckled, Paul and Nick had been all giddy and goofy about catching Alex and Bob kissing a few days prior. Despite the “it’s, uh, not what it looks like!” and other pleas, they weren’t naive.    
The mindless conversation carried on for a few minutes until it turned toward their relationship, personally and professionally, in which they decided it would be best discussed when the goofballs wouldn’t have the opportunity to barge in and cause a scene. They rerouted the conversation to their instruments and the best techniques. They stood and Alex began to instruct Bob on unique, but effective ways to move around whilst playing perfectly. “This is probably better suited for Nick and the way he's like a shadow to me, but…” The slightly taller man stood behind and grabbed Bob’s hands and tried to navigate him about the room. They both chuckled a bit but continued on, even as their hands became clammy and they started to cause friction between one another. 

Bob was the first to speak up, “aren’t you hot? I’m a little-” he cleared his throat in an uncomfortable manner, “-hot myself.” 

Alex drew closer and whispered in his ear, “hot you say? How hot?” His voice dug itself deep into Bob's ear and made him shudder. He continued, “because, baby, I am _so hot_ right now for you.” Alex ground himself against Bob’s rear, already getting hard. His hips kept rolling, digging into Bob’s ass as Alex’s member grew even harder, causing more friction between their jeans. Bob spoke again, “I don’t think this is the place for this, Lex, I-” Alex spun him around, the bass guitar inhibiting the grinding, and looked straight into his eyes.  “Baby, we don’t have to, but you do look so delicious and I want to eat you up right now instead of waiting for hours.” Alex was a great partner, he wasn’t ever demanding or rude (unless Bob wanted that, of course). Bob knew whatever he wanted would be validated, and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to have sex right here, right now. But, he knew if he and Alex were caught by Paul or Nick...or Paul and Nick, they’d never hear the end of it. Hell, Nick may even try to pass along a song idea hinting at the relationship. 

“Maybe we should just wait a little longer, text Nick or Paul to see how long we’ll be and then continue…” Bob said with a smile and Alex agreed.


End file.
